"This time," Cenz said, "We shall play according to Alchiban IV rules."

"An interesting decision," Y replied, accessing all of his files on the obscure ruleset.

Cenz did not pick it to attempt to throw him off; the game of Epochs was already incredibly intricate, and each possible formulation added only minor twists. And they both knew the game by heart.

But it was a variant they had rarely played. Something unexpected, bringing a spice to life, Y thought.

The game was already far too complex for any but highly-augmented human minds to grasp. Executive Commander Urle was known to play with them, though he was still a novice in comparison.

And the pace of their play was swift. A half-dozen rounds of folds, stalemates, card-drawing and sacrificing flew by in less than a minute.

It was, as was often the case, a very close game.

Y calculated that he had the edge. Cenz surely knew this, but he also knew how to exploit Y's seeming advantage in myriad ways. Would he go immensely bold and stick to honesty with his hand? Or would he attempt to bluff?

While many beings had tells that would be instantly obvious to Y, reading only a handful of polyps out of the current ninety-eight Cenz was composed of simply gave too few data points to judge from. Thus, that avenue was neatly closed to him.

He ran the numbers of past games, but Cenz was too clever for this, as well; relying not on a single mind but a union of many, there were unpredictable variances and spikes in the data as he allowed one or another polyp to make final decisions.

How enjoyable this was!

"Have you ever been to planet Earth?" Y asked, sacrificing a card to bring the temperature of the game a little cooler. It was not in his interests, but he always made some moves against his own interests when playing Cenz, to keep the being from understanding his goals. It sometimes worked.

"I have not. I understand they had some lovely waters, but some of the common and natural elements in them are noxious to my kind. And I hear that the seagulls are vicious! Sad, isn't it?" He played a card and bumped the temperature back up.

Which was what Y wanted; to win in this game, the ambient temperature of the universe (not a literal temperature in a literal universe, merely a number based on the current turn and cards previously sacrificed to raise or lower it - put into a pile referred to as the universe), when combined with the temperature of your hand would have to match one of several significant numbers, such as absolute zero or Planck's constant. The winning numbers only need be constant and important, not truly temperatures.

Each round, the universe cooled according to a formula that could be tweaked in different versions of the games, bringing different strategies to the fore.

Though invented by the Belerre, an SU member species who had shed their physical bodies in place of digital consciousness, some digits had been later added to the game by others.

The Polyps had put in a number related to their number of data-carrier sets in their genetic system, and Humans had put in 42, though most serious versions of the game did not include that one.

His kind had not seen fit to mar the otherwise perfectly observational beauty of the system by adding or subtracting any significant numbers.

"Quite," Y replied to Cenz's thoughts about the viciousness of seagulls and the melancholy of never being able to see something you wished, while sacrificing another card to drive the temperature even lower. He decided to commit more to his deception. "If you could go safely, would you?"

"Of course," Cenz replied. "Life is precious in our universe. Intelligent life even more so. I would love to see the world that spawned humanity. Just as I would like to visit Enope and Ngoash and every other homeworld if possible. Ah, Qet would be the most enjoyable - an ocean world! Alas, it is far too cold for me." He hesitated a moment. "And while I would never admit this to anyone but you, the lack of visible seafloor does bother me."

He played a card that brought the numbers back towards the neutrality of before. Y wondered if the topic was distracting him. Though they usually talked while playing, it happened occasionally that the minds of enough of Cenz's polyps began to wander that it affected his gameplay.

"But why do you ask?" Cenz now queried him.

"I have never been to a planetary surface," Y replied.

Cenz had been analyzing his hand, but his full attention moved to Y now. "Never?"

Y was silent for a moment, studying his own cards with intensity, or at least assuming that pose. "It is taboo."

Cenz put down his hand. "I have never heard of the Enhi having such cultural affectations before."

"Because we rarely speak of them. There is history there."

"Still - forgive my curiosity, you know I do not judge, Y, but - where does this come from?"

"I do not wish to speak of it, my friend," Y replied. "I hope you understand."

"Of course," Cenz replied. "It is your turn, by the way."

"Ah, yes." Dr. Y played a card, picking one at random.

Cenz stared at it in silence, picking up his hand again, but then looking back to Y in silence.

"Until now I believed you had been aiming for a higher temperature. But if so, you would have made your move now. You are distracted."

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The word was almost an accusation to Y's mind. Cenz was not insulted, nor angry. But it was a shocking thing.

Y considered trying to play on it, making a joke about it being another trick. But he could not quite make himself say the words. His own secondary consciousnesses were in confusion. Arguments broke out that consisted less of fact and more of emotion.

Cenz played his next card, but it was uncertain. He could not guess which way Y wanted the numbers to go, so he attempted to simply maintain the status quo.

Y realized that his friend was courting greater danger in his attempts to maintain homeostasis. He was surely not blind to it, but lacking information, he could not make a valid decision.

If he'd bet either hot or cold, taken a wild guess, he could play into Y's hands; indeed, if he had chosen cold, based on the cards Y guessed he held, there was little Y could do to bring the temperature up to where he wanted it.

Y played his last card, bringing the heat to where he wished it. "137 - Fine Structure Constant."

It was a very good play. In the tiers of winning numbers, it was among the top, the most rewarding and one that was difficult to achieve late in the game, when the universe had cooled to nearly zero.

"An excellent game," Cenz said. "Do you perhaps feel better?"

Y considered. "I believe I do," he replied.

"Then you'll be going to Earth?"

Y nodded. "I will. I will leave after we finish our game."

*******

Brooks had done enough atmospheric re-entries that it was no longer an exciting event.

At least biophysically; his heart rate did not appreciably raise as the shuttle streaked through the atmosphere, bleeding speed off into ionized air.

He still enjoyed the concept of the re-entry, but it was funny; there was no magic tech to make getting down easier or simpler than just crashing into the sky itself.

Space elevators took too long for his needs.

The banking of the shuttle ended, and a calm message came through the cabin;

"We have completed all our s-turns, folks. It's mostly smooth from here - just five minutes until touchdown, and two more bumps for the touchdown and drag chute. If it's your first time, remember that our descent will be steep - be sure to cover all drinks."

Brooks chuckled as he saw a couple hurriedly putting the caps back on drinks they'd uncovered when the ship had stopped banking.

They appeared to be a couple, and the woman caught his eye. She looked nervous.

"It's our first time," she said, smiling nervously.

"It's a bit alarming," Brooks said. "But nothing to worry about. These shuttles are made atom-by-atom. The craftsmanship is literally flawless."

The woman looked reassured, and the man next to her peered around.

"Have you done many of these?" he asked.

"Hundreds," Brooks said.

"Oh, are you a spacejumper?" the woman asked, using the common nickname for shuttle pilots.

He did have a uniform on, though he'd taken off his insignia and branch color.

"No," he told her. "I'm a Star Captain. But we land on a lot of worlds."

"Really!" the woman said. "I bet that's exciting."

"It can be interesting," he replied. "But we're about to dip."

An undignified 'eep' slipped from one of the two as the nose of the shuttle angled downwards.

The straps held them in place, but he saw their feet pushing against the floor.

The rest of the landing was uneventful. The pilot, Brooks thought, did a commendable job, and sent that note up to him. It was always worth the time to thank the people who served you.

"The local time in Antarctica is 12:31 AM. It is currently 1C in Davis, with an effective temperature of -7C. There is a 40 kph wind from the Northeast - balmy, by the local standards."

After disembarking, he felt the cold wind bite into his skin. It wasn't so cold, at the moment, that he needed special gear. But he would soon.

The snow crawler lot was on the edge of the city.

He'd been to Davis many times long ago, but all the buildings he saw now were new, built over the last few decades. Snow piled up between them, but was mostly let be.

People walked the streets, dressed casually. On a warm day like today, during the polar summer, all was pleasant.

The crawler lot looked more properly Antarctican. Snow was piled around the edges in mounds to help cut down the wind that otherwise blazed across the nearly featureless land.

"You must be Brooks," a man said, coming out and offering a gloved hand.

Shaking his hand, Brooks nodded. "Do you have the equipment I ordered?"

"Right in here," the man said. He glanced back at Brooks. "You been here before?"

"I was born here," Brooks said.

"Oh, okay. You seemed like an out-of-towner. May I ask your destination?"

He'd sent that, but he knew the man was simply being concerned. Once he got deeper inland, onto the polar plateau, the winds would truly pick up. Speeds of 300 kph were not unheard of.

And these katabatic winds, roaring down from the heart of the continent could start up in a heartbeat.

The crawlers were specially built to stay upright even in the worst blow. But a person caught out alone would be in serious trouble. And in such winds, help would have severe difficulty arriving.

And when they did come, it would be to retrieve the body, not to rescue. One could easily die in five minutes when the cold stole your body heat.

"Visiting my home," he said. "I'm from Perry."

The man paused a moment, and nodded soberly. "You know how to handle yourself, then."

Brooks said nothing, and the man brought him his cold-weather suit.

"I've keyed Crawler 31 to your system. It always brings me home."

Giving the man a thankful nod, Brooks went in to put on the gear.

Carefully, he checked it over. It was fully cleaned, of course, and they maintained everything well. But he knew he always had to check his own gear; it was the only way to be sure, and it meant any faults were your own.

Every seam, every circuit, every seal. The face shield had no flaws, he found - even in a 300kph gust, a pebble would be unlikely to break a cracked visor, but he did not like to take the chance all the same.

When he felt entirely certain that the suit was in good shape, he dressed and went back outside.

Even without having its heaters on, he felt warm.

"You be careful out there," the lot operator said as he got into his crawler. "Weather out near Perry is clear, but it's still cold."

"I know," Brooks replied.

There was no warmth left in Perry.